


Knowledge

by expected_aberrance



Series: Facets [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expected_aberrance/pseuds/expected_aberrance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr x Sansa Week Day 1: Knowledge</p><p>Arya knows something Sansa would rather she didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Petyr x Sansa Week  
> Prompt: Knowledge  
> Modern AU, fluffyish oneshot
> 
> Unbetaed, so any mistakes pointed out will be appreciated.  
> This is my first foray into this fandom. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading everyone else’s contributions, and I apologize if this hits too close to something already done. Thanks for reading.

“I know you’re shagging Littlefinger.”

Sansa paused mid page-turn, feeling the rough texture of the cheap paper slide infinitesimally beneath her fingertips as she considered how to respond. As non-sequiturs went, it wasn’t Arya’s most random or alarming, but it easily ranked in her top five. She lowered the paperback into her lap and looked up to see her sister looming over her with her arms crossed. It would be difficult to mount a proper defense from her current position lounging in the deck chair, but she would put forth her best effort. From what she could see in her peripheral vision, they were alone in the garden, which was certainly better than the alternative for the battle brewing. 

“What are you talking about?” she replied calmly, expression neutral even behind the sunglasses she wore. 

“I saw you with him.” Arya’s face darkened in concern mixed with a hint of disgust as they stared each other down. Whether it was in response to finding out her sister actually had a sex life or that it involved Petyr Baelish, Sansa wasn’t sure. More likely the latter. She waited, not wanting to reveal any more information and knowing that Arya had their father’s patience, which is to say, none at all. She was proven correct when her sister barreled on, “Last night. In his car parked down the road.”

Damn. She’d told him it was too risky but he’d only hummed against her throat as he pulled her into his lap in the driver’s seat. The prospect of getting caught clearly agreed with him, the dirty sod. Clever fingers and wicked tongue proved distraction enough until she’d arched back in abandon as he made her come and inadvertently leaned on the car horn, no doubt waking the occupants of the house they were parked in front of, and likely half the neighborhood as well. They’d broken apart in shock which soon turned to humor as she rested her forehead against his, she giggling and he chuckling quietly. Unbelievably to her, he’d almost immediately reached for her again, clearly intending to resume their prior activities even as she could see lights turn on in an upper window of the house across the street. She pulled away, asking him if he wanted to add dogging to what was most certainly an already extensive rap sheet. He’d replied that his record was clean as far as anyone would ever know, but he would be willing to besmirch its honor for her sake. She gave an exasperated huff as she finally managed to open the door and disentangle herself from him but condescended to kiss him goodbye before hurrying down the street to her parents’ house, hood pulled up to cover her face like the delinquent she was. Sending him home with a still no-doubt aching erection was unsatisfactory revenge indeed. She missed falling asleep in his bed; that would have to wait a few weeks until the semester started. And after this year she could live wherever she wished. Dwelling on anticipated freedom did nothing to help her at the moment, however. 

“Even if you saw whatever it is you think you saw, I distinctly remember Dad saying that you wouldn’t be allowed out of the house after school until, what was it? ‘Winter buries hell itself in ice and snow.’ So you couldn’t possibly have been walking down the street at any point last night.” She arched an eyebrow almost subconsciously. Petyr would be quite smug to hear how well she was channeling his voice at the moment. Sansa would likely give in to the overwhelming urge to smack him for it. 

“Do you really think he’ll still be mad over some broken glass when he hears his eldest daughter got off with a creepy old wanker in his midlife-crisis Porsche?” Arya shot back. Sansa resisted the urge to point out it had been a Jag, and if extravagant spending was in any way a sign of male menopause for Petyr, he’d have to have been born into it. 

“Nothing happened,” Sansa said, dismissively. “He was giving me a ride home.” She opened her book up in a show of ending the conversation, but knew her sister wouldn’t let it go that easily. 

“Did he—did he do something to you?” The concern in her sister’s voice made her abandon the pretense and meet her gaze. Sansa sighed and took off her glasses. They were never the closest of siblings, Arya being more alike in nature to their brothers, but she had been witness to a part of the agony Sansa had been put through over the past few years, privy to some but certainly not all the details, and had proven herself a fierce protector. Sansa knew that if she answered in the affirmative to the question, Arya would find a way to hunt him down and castrate him slowly. 

“No, he didn’t. He cares for me, hard as it might be to believe,” she answered. Arya looked skeptical, unsurprisingly. There was little she could do to explain their relationship, unfortunately, because half the time she didn’t understand it herself. 

“Why Littlefinger?” Arya made a face like she’d bitten into a rancid lemon saying the name. 

“I haven’t had great luck with boys my own age,” she said drily. The specter of her ex-fiancé no longer had any hold over her, an unpleasant but distant memory. Her scars were her own now. 

Arya let out an unladylike snort. “You do realize the population of Not Joffrey consists of more than a slimy middle-aged pimp who used to be in love with your mother, don’t you?” 

Sansa didn’t know where Arya had gotten her knowledge of Petyr’s side businesses, but had long ceased to be surprised at her sister’s ability to ferret out information she shouldn’t have. She decided glibness would be her best defense. “Yes, but most of them don’t dress half as well.”

“Christ, Sansa, we’ll find you a hot model with a great arse and kit him out in Armani. You can even stick devil horns and a forked tail on him if it would make you feel better. Anything would be an improvement over that pervy bastard—“

“Why does he bother you so much?”

Arya looked at her sister in disbelief. “He’s been slobbering over you since that stupid boxing match father made us go to, and it’s creepy as hell!” Sansa could hardly deny this, but had already come to terms with the fact that it should have concerned her more than it really did. 

“It’s my life and my choice.” Her tone was firm, matching her hardened expression.

“It’s a fucking terrible one.” Arya narrowed her eyes in response. 

“Name one time I’ve judged you for any of the things you’ve done, and I’ll let you tell me how to live my life.” It was a low blow, but Sansa was tired of defending herself.

“I’m just worried about you. After last time…” Sansa could see guilt and pain in Arya’s expression. Her sister had long ago apologized for not noticing what was happening with the Lannisters sooner, for not being there when Sansa had most needed her family but isolated herself instead. Sansa had accepted the apology readily, and they’d cried together for what felt like ages. She hadn’t been able to explain to any of them, not even Jon, that she couldn’t have gone to them for help. She’d been a broken, corrupted thing long before Petyr ever touched her, Joffrey had seen to that, and she didn’t fit in a family of good, just people any longer. That was still true, especially with the blood of her tormentors on her hands, but she’d learned to hide it better now, and could appreciate what they still meant to her. 

“I’m ok, really, but I’m glad you care.” 

“Of course, stupid.” Arya sat down next to her on the chair and flung her arms around her in an unexpected hug. Sansa reciprocated immediately however, appreciating the rare gesture of affection. 

“Are you going to tell Mum and Dad?” she asked, muffled a bit by her sister’s hair. 

“I should, just to see how girly his scream would be when Mum takes his balls off with the mixer.” Arya’s tone was bloodthirsty.

“Please don’t, I’m rather fond of them,” Sansa replied, smiling. 

“ _Ugh. Never_ mention that again.” Arya scrunched her eyes closed and slapped her hands over her ears. Sansa held back a giggle but couldn’t resist twisting the knife further. 

“Admittedly they’re not his best feature, as testicles do tend to wrinkle, but they make a nice complement to his—“ 

“ _Eww!_ No no no no…” Arya started humming in an effort to block out any further anatomical descriptions.

“You brought it up,” she laughed, swatting her sister with the book she still held. Arya pounced on her in retaliation, knowing all her weak spots and targeting them mercilessly as she tickled her sister into submission. Sansa fought back with matching ferocity, until the pair of them were exhausted and out of breath lying half-off the chair which didn’t really have the capacity to hold them both. They stared up at the nearly cloudless blue sky above them, the silence comfortable until Arya piped up again. “Seriously though…” 

“What?” She turned to her sister.

“Littlefinger?” Arya raised an insinuating eyebrow.

Sansa remembered the giggling conversation they’d had when they’d first heard their parents use the name, the lewd conjecture not diminished in the least after the man himself explained the humble origins of his nickname, during the very same boxing match Arya referenced earlier. “Are you asking me how big his cock is? Because just a minute ago it didn’t seem like you wanted to know.” 

Arya just made another disgusted noise and punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Is he coming over for Christmas?” 

Sansa closed her eyes and groaned at the thought. Breaking the news would have to happen sometime, as she knew Petyr had every intention of marrying her when she was ready. Maybe there would be less bloodshed if they just eloped. Probably not, though. “Not this year.” 

“But eventually?” She knew her sister was trying to unsubtly gauge how serious the car wreck of a relationship was.

“Yeah, I suppose.” 

“Have you figured out how you’re going to tell them?” 

“I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll just have him park in front of the house next time.” 

“I’m starting to think you don’t actually like him very much,” Arya laughed, and Sansa joined her. Behind them, they heard someone opening the back door. It was Rickon, chattering to what proved to be their mother following him about LEGOS, his latest obsession. The sound of Bran’s wheelchair preceded him before he pushed himself through the doorway and skillfully navigated the ramp to the garden. They both sat up and watched the trio amble toward them leisurely. 

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him.” Arya said to her, quiet but deadly, before getting up. 

Sansa just nodded. She didn’t tell her sister that if Petyr ever hurt her, she’d kill him herself. She’d bluntly said it to him, though, and he’d told her he loved her for the first time in response. It was the least romantic declaration she’d ever heard of, but it seemed to fit them perfectly. 

She rose to her feet, gathering her sunglasses and book as she did so. She heard her father bellowing from inside the house, and smiled at Catelyn Stark’s exasperated reply to her husband, “Ned, if you have something to say, come outside. I’m not having a conversation through the door.” 

She felt warmth spread through her as she watched her family together. Petyr, dysfunctional as he might be, was a part of it too, now. She just had to figure out a way for them all to accept it, as she wasn’t going to give any of them up. She met her mother’s smile with one of her own, and walked up the path to join them.


End file.
